Happiness Steps Up to Greet Me
by Annie Blythe
Summary: Sam, Andy, and a lazy, rainy day. Oneshot.


**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Rookie Blue.**

_It's drivel of the fluffy variety, I'm afraid. The next story on deck is a little angsty, and I needed a break. (Lots of rain this weekend, too. Blame the weather!)_

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><p>She shifts comfortably underneath the pale blue duvet, flopping against her pillow. The soft <em>plink<em> of raindrops echoes as they hit the rooftop and trail down the glass windowpanes. Smiling to herself, she thinks about how gloomy, rainy mornings are her favorite … Mornings when the sky is grey and overcast, and the world is slow to wake up. Mornings when the coffee is hot and the air is chilly, when there's a warm body and a soft smile next to her.

It's a strange comfort for a police officer, all things considered. Poor weather coupled with traffic duty or crowd control might be enough to dispel her love, but it hasn't happened yet. There's something about the rain. The familiar cadence, its peaceful aura... Reminds her of lazy Saturday afternoons, days when her dad dragged out the poker table, faded green felt and a worn deck, the ghosts of a thousand hasty shuffles. He critiqued her bluffs with the practiced eye of a detective, stony-faced skill in the wake of her giggles and protests. Taught her all he knew and then some, until she was a walking glossary of poker terms with the cool façade of a Tour player. _Not bad for a nine year old,_ her dad used to say. _Not bad at all, kiddo._

She sighs softly, glancing at Sam's side of the bed where the sheets are wrinkled and cool. Running a hand over the empty space, she wonders how long he has been gone, when he'll be back.

(Those gloomy, rainy mornings? They're a lot more fun with a friend.)

Her musings are interrupted as he passes through the bedroom door, rain-soaked running clothes plastered to his skin. His hair is damp, and the steady _drip-drip_ of water follows in his wake. _April showers_, she notes, as she thinks about wet pavement and mowed grass, the tell-tale signs of spring.

"Hey," Andy greets, stretching languidly and sitting up in bed. She takes in his disheveled appearance, suppressing a grin. "What happened to you?"

"Tried to ford the river again," Sam deadpans, stripping his wet t-shirt off and lobbing it in Andy's direction. "My oxen drowned."

"Is that right?" she replies with a grimace, picking up the soaked shirt with her thumb and forefinger. Tossing it off the bed, she yawns and snuggles underneath the quilted duvet. A second later, she pops back up, her brow furrowed. "Wait, they had _Oregon Trail_ when you were a kid?"

"Course not," Sam says, his face the picture of solemnity. Fumbling in the laundry basket for a towel, he slides his gaze over to Andy. "When I was a kid, Ma and Pa hitched up the wagon, and…"

"Funny," Andy interjects, the twitch of her lips belying her unimpressed drawl.

"I am, aren't I?" Sam replies with a waggle of his brow, smacking her leg lightly as he moves toward the bathroom.

She rolls her eyes, tossing a pillow in his general direction. "Why didn't you wake me? I would have gone running with you."

"Yeah?" Sam prompts, amused. "I tried to. Someone was being lazy." He flashes a grin, one shoulder braced against the doorframe of the adjoining bathroom. "You sleep like the grave, McNally."

"Not true," Andy protests, her words tapering off as she considers his statement. "I'm a cop; I sleep with one eye open…"

"Yeah, well that eye took the morning off," Sam returns good-naturedly, his words echoing in the bathroom as he turns on the shower. "Either that, or someone pricked your finger on a spindle."

She laughs, the sound muffled by her pillow. "Are you trying to medal in obscure references this morning?"

He wanders over to the bed, taking a seat by her legs. "You're on to me, huh?" Tugging her bare heel into his lap, he thumbs the warm skin, lost in thought.

"Got two-thirds through my run before the skies opened up," he admits. "It was cold rain, too. Count your blessings. You got to wake up in a warm bed, and the coffee is already on."

"Mm, coffee," she breathes, her eyes closing as she leans back on her hands. "If I didn't love you before…"

Sam's fingers still on her ankle. His eyes sweep over her face, his gaze measured and appraising.

"Yeah?" he asks quietly, the corners of his mouth pulling.

Sitting up, she opens her eyes slowly, a peaceful smile blooming on her face. "Yeah," she murmurs, nodding decisively. "Yeah, definitely."

Bracing his weight on his hands, he nudges her back toward the pillows, lips trailing across her neck, her jaw, and finally her mouth. She hums happily into his mouth, enjoying the attention.

"You smell good," he groans softly, working a hand through her hair. "And you're warm. Very warm. Can I keep you here all day?"

"_Sam_," she giggles after a long moment, shoving his shoulder none too gently. "Go turn off the shower. You're wasting, like, a billion gallons of water. Let's try and conserve our natural resources, alright?"

"I've got a pretty good idea of how we can conserve natural resources," he teases, trailing a hand down her side before tangling their fingers together and tugging her towards the bathroom.

"Not a chance," she replies, flashing a grin. Eluding his grasp, she flounces to the door. "There's a new bottle of French vanilla creamer in the fridge, and you've already informed me that coffee is ready. That window has closed, my friend."

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><p>He pads into the kitchen fourteen minutes later, clean shaven and dressed for the day.<p>

"That was quick," she comments, humming softly and studying him over the rim of her coffee mug. "Bread is in the toaster. Although I make no promises about the amount of bacon left."

"Hey, not all of us primp and preen," he counters, popping the toast out and plating it.

She snorts indelicately. "Blow-drying my hair does not count as primping, Sam. It's common sense in cold weather." Swallowing a large sip of coffee, she lifts a brow and stares at him. "You're delusional if you think I preen. I'm incredibly low maintenance."

"Low maintenance, huh?" Sam says, spinning on his heel and setting his plate on the table. Sliding an arm across her collarbone, he pulls her back against his chest. "Is that, uh, why you've given up shaving your legs?"

"Watch yourself," she warns, catching his wrist and pinching lightly. "Those are dangerous waters. More dangerous than what you ran into this morning."

Grinning into her temple, he loosens his grip. "How about this? I was quick in the shower because your company is incomparable." Brushing the top of her head with his lips, he steps back to retrieve his own coffee mug. "Can't blame a guy."

Hands firmly wrapped around her mug, she settles back in her chair, a smile gracing her features. "You do have pretty good taste, I'll give you that."

"Meh, jury's still out," he says with a shrug, popping a piece of bacon in his mouth. Sliding into the breakfast nook opposite her, he grins. "Just kidding."

"You better be," she replies, swiping the last bit of bacon before he can reach for it. His lips twitch at her blatant provocation, but he simply raises his mug in silent salute.

"So," she begins. "Plans for today?"

"_Well_," he says carefully, ripping a piece of toast in two. "I was thinking about working on the truck today. Rainy weather is as good a time as any to be in the garage."

Pulling her legs up on her chair, she leans forward and rests her arms on her knees. "That could work," she says reasonably, before she pauses, deep in thought. "I mean, we _have_ come off a week of overtime and double-shifts..."

Her tone is decidedly nonchalant as she fiddles with a loose thread on her sweatpants. "It's been a long few days. There's _that_ to consider."

"True," Sam concedes, taking a long sip of his coffee. "You got a better offer on the table?"

"Maybe," she hedges. "You interested?"

"Maybe," he replies, his tone purposefully vague.

She narrows her eyes at him until he breaks, a mischievous smile on his face.

"Knew it!" she declares triumphantly, stacking her dirty dishes and rising from the table.

"I'm an open book, McNally," he says with a grin, one hand reaching out to tweak her ponytail as she moves past him. "I'll even tell you my favorite ice cream, if you want. Favorite constellation, favorite childhood storybook… You name it. "

"Cute," she says dryly, kicking his chair. "Not my first rodeo, Swarek. Save your lines for another lady."

"I'm happy with the lady I have," he teases, tilting his chair back. "You said it yourself… Rainy days are better with a friend."

"I _did_ say that," she admits, dropping her plate in the dishwasher and dusting off her hands. Coming to stand behind him, she rests her chin on his shoulder, twining her arms around him. "So, uh. Let me know when Oliver wants to come over."

"Funny," he drawls, cocking a brow and spinning his chair. With a flick of his wrist, she tumbles into his lap, a silly grin on her face.

"You're not the only one with 101 jokes," she asserts, threading her fingers through his hair.

"Right, right," he mumbles into her warm skin, nipping her jaw. "I'll tell you one thing: I married a smartass."

She pulls back with a smile, bumping their foreheads together. "And I married a curmudgeon, so... Call it even?"

He shakes his head in amusement, worming a hand around his coffee. "Nah, I still got the better end of the deal."

She smiles at that, thumbing his jaw affectionately. "You have your moments, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah," he answers gruffly, draining his mug before reaching for the newspaper. "All part of my charm, I'm sure."

Pressing her lips together, she hides a smile as Sam shuffles through the sports section. Outside, the rain is showing no signs of stopping, and by the look of approaching clouds, thunder should be making its entrance at any moment. As her gaze falls on the bay window in the kitchen, she can think of a hundred things she'd rather do than go to the grocery store. Her day off is sacred time, and she intends to make the most of it.

"Tell you what," she offers, as Sam lifts his gaze to hers. Sliding off his lap, she points to the coffeepot. "One more cup. After that, you've got kitchen duty. I'll throw in a load of laundry, and then we can make it a sleepy day."

"Hmm," he intones thoughtfully. He narrows his eyes and rubs his jaw, pretending to weigh his options. With a beleaguered sigh, he finally shrugs, pushing back his chair and making his way over to the sink. "I could live with that, I suppose."

She nods encouragingly. "Wool socks, bad TV, and some exceptional displays of kissing prowess by yours truly. That new sofa hasn't seen any action since we bought it."

"That right?" he says with an incredulous scoff. "Well, then. We're clearly not working hard enough."

She laughs softly, wrapping her arms around his waist, her mouth settling next to his ear. "You got that right. Thank goodness for rainy days."

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><p><em>AN: They're going to be a cute married couple, I'm convinced. Probably not ever on the show, but definitely on the fan fiction front. Let the normalcy commence._


End file.
